The Journey is the Reward
by Kate Marley
Summary: It's mid-February 1977 and Spain is in the midst of his transition to democracy after Franco's death in 1975. Italy Feliciano has invited him over to Venice for the carnival where he would also meet his former protégé Romano. Spain decides to take the overland route to Venice but, on a whim, decides to go to Vienna instead. Will he dare to visit his ex-husband Austria?


**Preliminary notes:**

Written for stelraetnae for the APH Rarepair Exchange at aphsecretsanta on tumblr.

You requested Spain/Austria, Switzerland/Austria or South Korea/Belarus. Since I don't ship Edelweiss romantically (just as a brOTP) and since I don't think I could write South Korea, my choice was sort of obvious. ;) Out of your prompts, I chose "Historical Hetalia" and, in a way, "Former lovers getting back together". What you mostly get is almost 2k words of broken-hearted Spain, though. *coughs* Perhaps I'll also write a continuation over the weekend in which they actually "Meet the family", another one of your prompts.

An additional note that's important for the story: The carnival of Venice is very famous nowadays, but it has only become a major event since 1979. Before that year, it was only celebrated on some major islands in the Venetian Lagoon, such as Burano, but in a rather subdued form. (The tradition of the carnival actually dates back to the Middle Ages, but the French banned it for fear of unrest when they occupied Venice in 1797; they also ruled over it from 1805 to 1814. The Austrians, in whose possession Venice was from 1798 to 1805 and from 1814/15 to 1866, didn't allow the carnival either.)

Thanks to salytierra for reading through this and giving your opinion! ❤

* * *

 _Dear Antonio,_

 _Could you come over to my place for the carnival this year? I know it's difficult for you at the time, but I'd really love to meet you again and I know Lovino will be happy, too (even if he says otherwise). Some other friends are also invited, so I'd be delighted to host you at my house in Burano in the Venetian Lagoon. Just ask for my name; everyone there knows where I live. You can come over as early as you like, but of course, the main festivities are on Fat Thursday and Shrove Tuesday. Don't miss out on them!_

 _Love_

 _Feliciano_

* * *

Spain's hands were shaking when he looked down at the letter in them for what must have been the hundredth time. He still didn't know if he had made the right decision when he had just taken all the money left in the house—which wasn't all that much—and bought a train ticket to Barcelona. From then on, he would either take trains to Genoa in Italy or to Geneva in Switzerland… Antonio didn't really know how to proceed, but he hoped he would eventually find his way when he was on the spot.

Yes, he was trying to distract himself by mentally planning that trip. And was he to blame? Franco was dead for little more than two years and his king was determined to democratise his place, but the powers of the old government were still strong. He didn't know Juan Carlos well enough to be sure if he could actually trust him. The same was true for his interim prime minister, Adolfo Suárez, who had even been a part of the old system.

And then, that terrorist attack not even a month ago… A neo-fascist group with close ties to the far right had attacked legal scholars working for a trade union, killing five people and wounding four. To Antonio, that only emphasised _how fragile and precarious_ this new process of democratisation was. He felt the instability of the country he represented in his very bones, and thinking about the attack scared him. What if Juan Carlos and Suárez failed? He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep his head down and pretend he wasn't all that interested in politics anyway for _another_ forty years of authoritarian rule.

He should have stayed at home. He was too weak and too mentally unstable to face Veneziano and Romano and whoever else he might meet in Venice. On the other hand… On the other hand, he felt cooped up in Madrid. He was afraid of what might happen next, but he _couldn't do anything about it anyway._ So not going out, hiding himself away in his flat instead, really wasn't an option either.

As always, Antonio tried to cope with his anxieties by imagining positive things, trying to push his negative thoughts as far away as he could. What would it be like to meet his former charge Lovino again? Would he still be angry and afraid of being left alone, the way he used to be in the past? Or would he be brave and enduring instead? Maybe their roles had changed during the time they hadn't seen each other. Maybe it was now Romano who would take him in his arms, telling him that it was all right, that he needn't be afraid.

Oh, how he wished for someone to embrace him and tell him everything was all right, even if it wasn't.

* * *

At last, after hours and hours in trains, Spain fell asleep. He was on his way to Geneva; that rail connection had been more convenient; had involved less time spent standing around on platforms in the cold.

In his dreams, he had arrived in Venice already. The Italy twins were guiding him to a masquerade ball where everybody was dressed in elegant cloaks, hiding their faces behind beautifully crafted masks. He started a joyful little dance with Romano that was really just hopping around, not actual dancing, until a fair-haired lady in an elegant dress asked for a dance. Dancing with her meant adhering more to the rules of standard dances like waltz and foxtrot and tango.

The next person to request a dance was a brown-haired man in a black cloak wearing a blue mask. His long, thin and yet strong fingers gripped Antonio's, and he was taking the lead. The man seemed oddly familiar, but Antonio's dream-self couldn't quite place him. It was only when the music, something classical, became slower and they danced closer that he smelled a familiar scent; that he noticed more and more little details about the men's posture and appearance, all of them so familiar that dream-Antonio didn't know how he could ever have _not_ recognised him the moment he saw him, mask or no mask. That odd mixture of emotional and physical longing, his constant companion whenever he thought of Austria, spread from his hands through his whole body until his knees became so weak they hardly supported his weight any longer.

The moment he thought his knees would finally give in and he would fall at Austria's feet was the moment he woke up.

"Sir," someone close to him said. "Excuse me, Sir, we have almost arrived in Geneva. You need to show me your passport."

Antonio looked up, blinking at the border official next to him, a woman in her late twenties, with tired eyes. "Ah yes…" he said automatically, presented her with his new diplomatic passport and started to gather his belongings.

* * *

Spain was strutting up and down on the platform. He should start mounting the train to Milan. He really should. It was due to depart in five minutes.

But he hesitated.

Four minutes.

Why on Earth had he dreamt about Austria? He couldn't really imagine his ex-husband on a masquerade ball…

Oh well, he could. Austria was capable of doing things you didn't expect of him. He was able to surprise everyone who thought they had got an idea of what he would or wouldn't do.

Or was he? How long was it since Spain hadn't seen him?

Three minutes.

 _Oh God, he couldn't actually consider doing that!_ He was unstable, a mess, completely unprepared … and exhausted and probably smelly from the day he had spent in trains… Seeing Austria would just wreck him even more.

 _But he wanted to see him so much._ Just a glimpse … just to check if he still looked the same...

Two minutes.

And what if Austria wasn't even there? What if he had actually received an invitation from Veneziano, too, and had arrived in Venice already? In that case, changing his route wouldn't make any sense at all…

But how likely was that? Austria saw the Italy brothers on a regular basis; there was no need for him to get to them early. Even if he intended to go to the carnival, he'd probably leave only the day before Fat Thursday.

One minute.

 _He wanted to see him._ That was what it came down to. He knew he would probably hurt his broken heart even more, but he wanted to see him, and didn't that longing hurt, too? Didn't this constant thought, _I want to see him,_ wear away his heart?

He stopped.

Zero minutes. The train departed. Swiss trains were punctual.

* * *

 _Oh my God. Oh my God, what have I done?_

Antonio was sitting in the train to Zurich. It was the next train already that would carry him over the border, into the country whose representative had been his husband for almost two hundred years. Now he didn't have any money anymore, save for change in the amount of two Swiss francs and fifty centimes—too less even to change to Austrian schilling.

A gut feeling told him what he had done was _incredibly_ stupid … but by buying that ticket, he had robbed himself of any means to change his plans. He _needed_ to get to Vienna now.

The question was if he was actually brave enough to get to Roderich's home … and if he would be able to find it in the first place.

* * *

Finding it hadn't been the problem. Roderich Edelstein's name and address were listed in the directory Antonio found in the first post office he passed. It had just taken a while until he arrived in front of his villa in the Viennese district of Hietzing because he needed to walk. He didn't have any money for public transport anymore, after all.—Oh well, he did have money left, just not in the currency he needed.

Now, Antonio was pacing up and down on the narrow path in Roderich's front yard, thinking the same thoughts he had thought over and over again during the past hours.

He wanted to see him. It would hurt. He couldn't go back.

He never dared to ring the doorbell. He only went on the doorstep, raised his hand to the bell and let it fall down to his side again. He had already tried for several times, but he _just_ _couldn't get through with it._

 _This time…_

He went to the doorstep, raised his hand … and just let his body sag against the wall next to the electric bell system, squeezing his eyes shut until he saw black dots dancing against his eyelids.

 _Coward,_ he thought. _You coward._ He opened his eyes, staring down at the purple doormat, the colour of Roderich's eyes. His ex-husband had always had a sense for matching colours.

A soft click interrupted his thoughts.

The first thing he saw was a greyish cat with cream-coloured paws that sniffed at his feet. Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head, still unprepared to face the person standing in the doorway.

Well, at least he wasn't the only one who was unprepared. Austria blinked with those beautiful eyes of his, not really hidden behind the rectangular lenses of his frameless spectacles.

"Wolferl heard you," Austria said when he had found his speech, gesturing at the cat.

"Did he?" was the only thing Spain managed to get out. _Oh my God, Toño, you're dumb, you're so dumb!_

"Come in," said Austria. "You look weary."

Roderich was right, Antonio realised. After almost two days spent in trains, he _was_ weary. Mechanically, he took his shoes and coat off, simply dumping his suitcase in the entrance hall. He let Austria guide him through the hall, into his living room, and on to a sofa. Antonio didn't need an invitation to drop down on it. As soon as his legs realised he didn't have to carry him any longer, they simply gave in.

He hardly noticed Austria leaving for the kitchen, muttering something about a cup of cocoa under his breath. He just saw Austria's cat jump on the sofa beside him, curling in on his lap. The animal seemed to sense he was but a tired, nervous wreck and had apparently decided to give him some support.

Carefully, so as not to chase the cat away, Antonio laid down on the sofa. The cat actually stayed where it was; it seemed to like him. He dozed off within seconds.

Later on, Antonio wasn't sure if someone had actually stroked his hair while he was asleep or if he had just dreamed about Roderich's caresses because he wished for them so much.

* * *

 **Notes:**

The main celebrations of the Italian carnival take place on _**Giovedì Grasso**_ **(Fat Thursday),** a traditional Catholic feast on the last Thursday before Lent, and on _**Martedì Grasso**_ **(Shrove Tuesday).**

After the death of Spanish dictator **Francisco Franco** Bahamonde (1892-1975), **Juan Carlos** (*1938) of the Bourbon family became King of Spain (1975-2014). In 1969, Franco chose him as the next head of state after his death because he expected Juan Carlos to continue his authoritarian rule. Instead, the new king called for a transition to democracy. In order to introduce reforms, he relied on **Adolfo Suárez** González (1932-2014) who led an interim government and became the first democratically elected Prime Minister of Spain (1976-1981) since 1939.

The **Massacre of Atocha** _ **(Matanza de Atocha,**_ 24 January 1977)was an attack carried out by neo-fascist terrorists on an office located on 55 Atocha Street near the Atocha railway station in Madrid.


End file.
